Trips In and Out
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: Decker's got the VA staked out, waiting for the A-Team. Then an unexpected attack leaves many unanswered questions for both the team, Decker, and especially Murdock. And this is *before* everything got *really* crazy. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First multi-chapter A-Team fic! I'm excited :) I'm not sure whether to cite some episodes or not, since there are a lot of oblique references, but if you have questions let me know. Any foreign languages spoken in this fic are translated using Bing Translator, so if anything is wrong, forgive me. I'm not fluent in everything. English translations are at the bottom. I don't own the A-Team. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The file was thick with papers, yet seemed to contain very little information. Decker frowned, pouring over the accumulated accounts of Lynch, and the occasional fink "clients" concerning the infamous A-Team. These papers were added to his own, but for all their damning evidence very little of it could be <em>proven<em>. Besides, no matter the number of photographs they had on the three members, none of them amounted to the same as actually having the men in custody.

Decker didn't like how this case was dragging out month after month. At first it'd been hard to believe that Lynch had kept up this game for ten years- now, it was looking like a short stretch. The A-Team was probably the most slippery fugitive case to ever grace American history.

Going in hard and strong didn't work. No matter how many men and firepower he commanded, the A-Team always managed to sneak away under their noses. Tricking them didn't work either; somehow they got wise to the plan. And even when he _had_ the A-Team in his very clutches, under heavy guard- being _transported_ for Christ's sake!- they still somehow managed to escape.

And then disappear.

Usually, the only way Decker could get any kind of lead on them was when they went on a moral trip, helping out the good citizens of America. That was when they were all together. Apart, it was very easy for them to disperse and glide away into their separate lives. Three men are easier to track when they're all bunched together than when they're all spread out doing different things.

Blast it all.

He snapped the file closed and glared at the neat font on the cover for a while. It was just filled with vague accounts from clients unwilling to hand over the men who helped them, the sketchy reports of known crooks trying to describe how the heck they got caught, and fuzzy photographs taken from around corners and over rooftops. Rumors perforated all the reports- the A-Team had defeated them with a cabbage cannon, the A-Team owned a hotel, a restaurant, the A-Team had three men, four men, an army of winos at their command!

Who could believe any of this?

Half of it may be true, all of it may be false, all of it could be real, or someone was just playing a very bad joke. Decker wouldn't put it past Smith to start some rumors of his own out there to confuse him. Well, enough with "eye-witness" accounts- they were too unreliable. Decker preferred to focus on what they actually _knew_.

He had detailed records of their time in 'Nam. He even managed to get his hands on more classified missions, trying to figure out what tricks they liked to use to get work done. He knew most of their backgrounds- Baracus had a mother up in Chicago whom he loved, but rarely contacted; Smith had a nephew who was married with a kid and into racing cars- the rising profile of the man also prevented a lot of contact; and Peck had the orphanage where he grew up, and most of the people who knew him there were, at best, just acquaintances.

With family a dead-end, Decker turned to friends. There had to be something or someone they maintained contact with! He quickly found that Peck had a _long_ string of girls and high-profile "friends" all over the city, but they were next to useless, as most of them didn't know Lt. Templeton Peck, but instead a Sammy Deacon, or Mr. Moreau, or "Butch". He couldn't always be sure they were talking about the same man. Even when he confirmed it _was_ Peck they were discussing, no useful information was forthcoming- the ladies had an annoying tendency to get starry-eyed and start relaying in uncomfortably explicit detail just how they _knew_ him.

He did know that Smith acted in movies playing a lot of monsters. Those costumes, however, did a pretty good job of hiding the men inside, though. And it certainly didn't help that he was going by his real name, John Smith. Decker got a headache whenever he thought about how many _John Smiths_ he ran into tracking down the colonel. And whenever he was hot on the tail of the real man, he ran into a lot of irate directors and impatient agents spinning him around in circles over red tape. But that's Hollywood.

One constant fact was that B.A. Baracus did volunteer at various youth shelters. However, Decker had been explicitly ordered _not to make any, repeat, any kind of move against those shelters_. If something went wrong and it came out that _children_ were involved, it would be an incident that the military might never recover from.

Frustrated, fed-up, and almost thoroughly f*-ed, Decker decided it was time to switch tactics. No, he wasn't going to _chase_ the A-Team this time.

He was going to wait for them.

Not like a trap, where the prey needed to be lured into its clutches, but simply waiting. For all their moving about and shifting identities, there was one place that all the men visited at some point on occasion: the Veteran's Administration Hospital.

Going back to their 'Nam files, it was well-known that Captain H.M. Murdock had flown the unit on multiple occasions. It was also well-known that the A-Team still visited their former comrade. Decker did have high suspicions that Murdock actually worked with the A-Team and that his numerous disappearances were them breaking him out, but that was another something that he couldn't actually _prove_. There was always some kind of alibi for the man.

Part of the team or not, Murdock was the only stationary key in the A-Team's lives. One or all of them would show up eventually, whether to visit or break him out. He knew it; he'd seen Peck at the hospital before, and Baracus's van parked outside- it was certain.

They'll show up… and he would be waiting.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Decker, I-"<p>

"That's _Colonel_ Decker to you, ma'am," he corrected, not slowing his pace.

"Colonel Decker, sorry," the nurse amended, still trying to keep up with him. "But I really don't think you should be doing this; this is a _hospital_, not a prison, and we have security-"

"And a wonderful job they're doing if your patients keep escaping," he cut her off. "Ma'am, I'm only going to say this once: this is part of an extended military operation. Any attempt to disrupt us or in other ways hinder us will result in your getting charged for obstruction of the military and treason. We need to place a 24-hour watch on Patient Murdock, and we will do so by _our_ methods."

"But sir, and I mean no disrespect, but I don't think you're considering the possible ramifications of your constant scrutinizing," she continued worriedly.

"Oh, I'm sure that Captain Murdock will find a way to weave us into another harmless fantasy," Decker answered, rounding the corner and finally reaching the door to Murdock's room.

"Captain Crane, I want a man posted here 24-7. I want another man posted down at the back entrance to this wing. If you feel you need to double the watch, do so." He turned back to the protesting nurse, never stopping in his orders. "Nurse, I'm also going to need complete access to any video feeds you might have. If you don't have any, I'm going to have to implement my own, namely in the elevators and the outside of the building, understood?"

"Oh, but Colonel, I-"

"_Understood_, nurse?" he repeated, bringing out his full military voice.

"Yes!" she jumped. "I- oh…" she moved off, anxiously writing on a clipboard.

"Finally," Decker muttered. "Crane, have you selected the man to take first watch?"

"Yes sir," Crane replied, putting away his radio. "He's coming up from the car now."

"Good, we'll wait for him to get here," Decker groused, looking down the hall.

"Shh! Oh, stop that barking, Billy, it's just someone at the door! Quiet down, boy! There, there, see? Now if you keep up the good behavior, I'll let you have some of my grapes at suppertime, m'kay?"

A face appeared at the little window in the door to the room, and Crane and Decker twisted to see Murdock's wide grin and frizzled hair pressed up against it. The captain batted his eyelashes at them.

"Well, my, my, gentlemen, how lovely of you to stop by! Would you fine chaps like to come inside? I've just made some tea and it would be dreadfully impolite of me to drink it all by myself."

"Ah, no thanks, Captain, we are not here on a social visit," Decker answered, trying to maintain an official demeanor.

Murdock stuck out his lower lip and _tsked_. "Aw, what a shame." He looked up and sighed dramatically, giving a little shake of his head. "It's been so _long_ since I've had visitors. And here I've made all this tea- I guess Billy and I will have to finish it off again."

Spotting an opportunity for possible information, Decker decided to continue the conversation. "When was the last visit, Captain?"

"Oh, it was some two weeks ago, lad," he answered, a pleasant smile still on his face. "He stayed for around four hours."

"Who?" Decker asked.

"Why, Neil Armstrong, of course!" Murdock chirped. "We had a delightful conversation about the phases of the moon and werewolf circadian rhythms."

Crane smirked, and promptly stuck his fist in his mouth, turning away from Decker's glare.

"Are you sure, that was who last visited you, Captain?" he asked the insane man.

"Well," Murdock frowned. "Sort of. I mean, I don't really count the last one as a visit _here_ so much as I visited _them._ See, the thing with aliens is that they never knock or stop by; they take you up to _their_ place."

Decker raised his eyes up to the ceiling.

"Sgt. Turner reporting, sir!"

Decker turned to see the new man standing at attention. "At ease, Sergeant," he replied, returning the salute. "Your orders are to watch this man," he lowered his voice so that the captain wouldn't hear. "I want a report on what he does, what goes in and out of his room, and most importantly, who visits him. Are we clear, Sergeant?"

"Yes sir!" Turner answered.

"Good." Decker turned back around and faced where Murdock and Crane were talking. "Captain," he said, and both turned. "Murdock," he addressed. "This is Sgt. Turner, and he, among a few others, will be looking after you."

Murdock giddily clapped his hands. "I've always wanted my very own, personalized room service! Let's see, for starters I would like a lobster. It doesn't have to be fried; a live one will do just as well. And then I'd like-"

Decker tuned out the man's ramblings and faced Turner. "Good luck, Sgt."

"I'll need it, sir," he replied, eyeing the man was still rattling off a menu, only now in a French accent. "What happened to him?"

"Lots of things," Decker ground out. He signaled Crane and they left the two men to their conversation.

* * *

><p>Murdock kept badgering the man- Sgt. Turner, was it?- until he was sure the man wasn't leaving. Whatever Decker was up to, he had the growing feeling that he wouldn't like it.<p>

He'd wandered around his room and casually checked out the window. Quickly, his trained eyes spotted another MP out in the common area, and another closer to the main entrance of the hospital. Decker was covering this place pretty well.

Or maybe, just covering him.

Well, he had to get a message out to the guys. Who knew how much more time he had?

He picked up the phone to his room and rapidly dialed a number. It rang a few times before a confused voice answered. "_Hola?_"

"_María, mi buen amigo! ¿Cómo estás? Escucha, no puedo tomar los niños este fin de semana, he tropezado con algunos problemas en el trabajo. ¿Está bien con usted? ¿Es? Gracias, querida! Te veré más tarde!_"* He promptly hung up before dialing another number.

...

Turner was confused by the burst of Spanish from the room behind him, so he turned around to see the patient talking animatedly on a phone. Alarmed, he pulled his radio and hurriedly raised Decker.

"_Decker here._"

"Sir?" Turner reported. "Did you know that Captain Murdock has a phone in his room?"

"In _his room?_"

"Yes sir, seems to have it all to himself. Anyway, he's making a bunch of weird calls…"

He held the radio away from his ear as Decker cursed. "_Captain, get a tap on that phone line immediately! I want to know who he calls and what he says!_" The shouted orders continued on the other line until the colonel remembered to take his finger off the button.

Turner turned back to the room. Murdock had already made three other calls in various voices and languages. He couldn't be sure _who_ all he was talking to.

...

"_Lou's Delivery_," came a gruff voice.

"This is your friendly neighborhood pentatonic scale, you say it again, we'll play it twice. I'm thinking of getting a steak out at a restaurant; know any near here? Not an upscale place to stay, low-down places save my budget. Okay thanks, buh-buy." Murdock hung that one up too before pausing for a moment to think. A wicked grin spread across his face. Yes, this would do nicely, he though as he picked the phone up again.

* * *

><p>"Hurry up, hurry up," Decker demanded from the van. They'd positioned it by a phone pole nearest to the hospital, ready to track Murdock's next call.<p>

"Here it comes, sir," an MP reported.

"Find out where it's going," Decker ordered. He leaned forward. Somewhere in this mess of phone calls, Murdock had to contact the A-Team.

"Call's coming through," the MP mentioned. "Do you want audio?"

"Let's hear it," he said firmly.

A high-pitched giggle erupted throughout the van. "Gooooood morning, Mister Sir! I'd love to send you cake, but it doesn't travel well over the phone, so how about a biiiiiiiig kiss instead, eh?" A loud sucking sound commenced afterward for a couple seconds. "-mwah! Have a good day!" The line clicked off.

Decker whirled on the MP. "Corporal, where'd that call go to?"

The MP's face had gone absolutely white as the address came back over the computer. He coughed a little and tugged nervously at his collar. "Sir…"

"Where'd he call, Corporal?" he shouted.

The MP shrank a little and pointed at the screen. "Well, the White House, sir. He just phoned the White House."

* * *

><p>Hannibal hung up the phone when he heard the line click off. He frowned. That had been Murdock's voice, and nobody else knew the number to the van. Well, aside from Mrs. Baracus, that was. The message had been strange, and definitely needed to be looked over.<p>

"B.A., grab the tape machine and pull over. I think we all need to hear this."

After the sergeant had done as requested, the three crowded around the recording and listened again. Face leaned back as it ended. "Must be some kind of code, Colonel."

"Right," Hannibal pointed. "And the instructions were at the beginning. Now, first he mentions the pentatonic scale."

"That's ah, five notes, often done on the black keys," Face informed.

"And then he said something about goin' twice," B.A. added. "Sayin' it again."

"Twice is two," Hannibal said. "That's fairly simple: after every five words, read the next two. Play it again, Face."

They listened to the message once more as Hannibal scribbled down the notes on a piece of paper. When it was done, they looked at him expectantly.

"Okay, so we've got steak, out, near, here, stay, low. Well, alright then. _Stake-out near here, stay low_. Looks like somebody's got their eye on Murdock."

"Could it be Decker, Colonel?" Face asked.

"Probably. He's been due for an appearance. I want nobody near the hospital until he gets bored and leaves- or until Murdock drives him away. Whichever comes first," he finished with a grin.

B.A. shook his head as he started up the van again. "Ain't nobody can stand that crazy fool for long."

* * *

><p>*Maria, my good friend! How are you? Listen, I can't take the kids this weekend, I've run into some trouble at work. Is that okay with you? It is? Thank you, darling! I'll see you later!<p>

**Reviews are appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This one's got a more of an action pick-up. I'll go ahead and cite 'Members Only'- Murdock mentioned that Dr. Richter takes him to the country club every Friday. Once again, English translations are at the bottom, provided by Bing Translator. Enjoy!**

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><p>Rounding out the fifth day of entertaining his "guests", Murdock was antsy.<p>

"I feel like someone dumped me in anthill," he told Billy, pacing anxiously around his room. "And all their little legs are crawling all over my skin- that's the problem with eyeballs, ol' buddy. They make me prickle like a porcupine."

He glanced out at the back of the MP that was always stationed outside his door. Sometimes it was Turner, but they rotated shifts. Nevertheless, there was _always someone there_. Even when he was sleeping. Really, it was quite creepy. But everywhere he turned it was that same dull-green uniform. Eating in the cafeteria- there's an MP. Walking near the benches outside- there's an MP. Strolling through the hall, standing outside of Richter's office, and outside of the bathrooms there's always a _bloody MP!_

Much more of this and Murdock was pretty sure that he would _literally_ start climbing the walls.

"Hey, you!" he shouted, loud enough for the guard to jump. The man whirled and saw the enraged look and stance of the crazy captain. He seemed genuinely frightened- until Murdock's face split into a grin and he started laughing.

"Made ya look!"

The MP huffed and turned away while Murdock collapsed back onto his bed, seriously bored and itchy. He never liked being restless. Well, restless without anything to _do_. A low growl filled the room.

"Easy, Billy. Don't do anything too exciting yet."

Tomorrow was Friday. Friday would be better. Hopefully Friday would mean that he wouldn't have to resort to banging his brains against the ceiling.

* * *

><p>"You're taking him <em>where<em>?"

"Beverly Bay Country Club," Dr. Richter replied evenly. He looked Decker in the eye until the man started to pace. "I do this every Friday. If your _intel_ was any good you'd know. A man like Murdock needs constant variety. These outings help provide that. It relieves the pressure of being cooped up in a hospital, and, as of late, the agitation caused by your constant watch."

Decker whirled on the man. "He is not leaving this area! We need him stationary for the watch!"

"And _I_ need to help a patient," Richter snapped back. "I could care less about your little guard here, but it will _not_ get in the way of any of my treatments!"

"And taking a patient to a posh country club to golf is part of your treatments?" Decker sneered.

"In this case, yes," Richter stated firmly. "I told you: variety. Fresh air and a change of scenery help relax anyone- not just anxiety patients. And believe me, from what I could tell from our last session Murdock's anxiety is _quite_ spiked."

Decker grunted and looked away, deliberately keeping quiet for several moments. The doctor just crossed his arms and was fully prepared to wait him out.

"Alright, I'll authorize the trip," Decker complied. "But my men will be nearby the entire time."

"It was not your authority I needed to go, Decker," Richter replied, stepping around him.

Decker caught his arm as he passed. "That's _Colonel_ Decker to you, Richter," he rumbled.

Richter yanked his arm free and glared at him. "And that's _Doctor_ Richter," he retorted.

Decker watched him leave to go unlock his patient from his room. One conversation and already he hated the man.

* * *

><p>Murdock was fully prepared to throw his arms wide and shout "FREEDOM!" the moment he stepped outside. However, the exuberant act was dampened at the sight of the military truck parked but engine running behind Dr. Richter's limo. He turned to his therapist curiously, and Richter just shook his head.<p>

"Hard enough to get this trip out; it had a few 'conditions'."

It was downhill from there. The MP's and Decker made no attempt to conceal their presence, and the whispers and glances from the other club members made Murdock even more uncomfortable. He already had enough eyes watching his every move.

Their lunch session went as expected. Murdock grabbed Richter's arm and quickly started speaking. "I've never felt like this. It's like I'm developing claustrophobia- to people! The walls to my room are leaking eyeballs every night, and Billy's a constant shade of purple 'cause he don't like all the men who hang around, and any more of this and I'll be scrabbling like a squirrel up my room to make a nest in my ceiling!"

"Let's try not to climb the walls just yet, Murdock," Richter consoled. "I know it's tough- it'd be tough for any man in your position, regardless of who they were."

"Maybe a monkey," Murdock muttered. "Feel like a frog on a biology table or some kind of animal at the zoo that a bunch of people come to gawk at."

Richter made a mental note on his candidness, and quietly continued with the session.

When it had concluded and they were back at the hospital, Richter high-tailed it to, pardon, _Colonel_ Decker.

"Back off," he stated, not bothering with pleasantries. Decker rose from where he was, eyeing the irate doctor.

"Excuse me?"

"Back off this case, _Colonel_; you're disturbing my patient. Nobody likes to be viewed under a microscope 24/7, and it's even worse for people with mental issues. Lay off the pressure."

"I can't do that," Decker started before Richter exploded in his face.

"To _hell_ you can't! You've got your boys stationed everywhere making everyone nervous! They don't leave Murdock alone for a literal _second_. You can back off some without losing too much. Keep them out of sight, or on watch less often, I don't care; but if you don't figure out a way to clear some of this tension I will _personally_ see to it that you get reassigned to permanent latrine duty!"

With that, Richter turned on his heel and marched sharply out the office. He made sure to slam the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Decker was enraged. He'd been pretty darn mad before, usually thanks to Smith, but this doctor sure had gall to come and tell <em>him <em>what to do. Ha!

He checked on the security measures he had in place and swung by Murdock's room himself. He looked in on the captain and saw him sitting cross-legged on the floor staring at a wall. He seemed to be moving slightly- Decker twisted his view and glimpsed a video controller joystick in his hand. The man seemed intent on watching the wall and conquering it.

He shook his head. He knew a hopeless case when he saw it.

He faced the corporal on guard duty. "I want you to keep an extra close eye on him. Make sure no one tries to sneak in and that he doesn't try to sneak out. I want all forms of contact reported and catalogued."

_BANG!_

Both men jumped at the loud crash and whirled to see Murdock suddenly crossing to the door, yelling his head off with each step.

"E-_nough_ with all the _peepin'!_ Can't a guy play his video games in peace? Can't he sleep alone? Just what's so interesting that you have to _stare at me through a fish tank?!_" Murdock hit the door so hard that it shook. Decker and the corporal took a step back from the crazed and clearly pissed-off man. The volume of his shouts sent echoes through the hall.

"WELL?" he shouted, hitting the door again.

"Captain, you should-"

_BANG! _"I should _what_?" _BANG!_ "I should take my pills? I should behave nicely?" _BANG! BANG! _"I should _sell out my comrades?" BANG!_ "Well, here's news to you, Jack! _Tôi không bao gi__ờ__nói chuy__ệ__n! B__ạ__n không th__ể__phá v__ỡ__tôi b__ằ__ng cách này b__ạ__n Ôi m__ả__nh v__ỡ__! Tôi không __đứ__ng cho b__ấ__t k__ỳ__nh__ữ__ng __đ__i__ề__u này!_"*

Decker took another step back at the rapid, furious Vietnamese pouring out. At that time the orderlies and nurses arrived, frantically trying to calm down the wild veteran and get inside his room. They unlocked the door and started inside, pressing back as Murdock tried to hurl himself out, reaching for Decker. He was still screaming in Vietnamese, and though Decker wasn't fluent he recognized vulgarity when he heard it.

"Oh, dear," a nurse next to him sighed. He turned to her, watching her watch the spectacle. "I was afraid something like this would happen while you were here."

"He's done this before?" Decker questioned.

"Only on occasion. He's normally never violent. However, on the rare times that he is…" she trailed off, watching as some stronger orderlies managed to secure the out-of-control patient to the bed. "Drastic measures need to be taken," she finished.

Murdock had suddenly quieted, which prompted Decker to look back in the room. One nurse was removing a syringe and the rest of the orderlies were finishing up securing some restraints. Decker turned back to the nurse, questioning.

"Oh, don't worry. The sedative is only for a couple hours. It's late, and it's to encourage him to calm down and sleep. Once it wears off he should slide right into regular sleep for the rest of the night, but the restraints are a necessary precaution in case he wakes up. Standard procedure for when a patient violently snaps. They could hurt themselves."

"I… see," Decker replied, slightly unnerved by the entire ordeal. He recalled Richter's words and warning about setting Murdock off. "He'll be restrained the entire night?"

"Yes, sir," she answered.

Decker mulled it over in his mind. The doctor _had_ threatened to go to his superiors if he didn't ease up. Sighing, he pulled out his radio and relieved some guards from around various locations near the hospital. He turned to the corporal, who was still standing, shaken, by the door.

"Corporal, I still want you here, though you don't have to stand right in front of the door. Don't lose sight of the room, but don't-" his jaw twitched, but he forced the words out anyway. "Don't watch its occupant 24/7."

"Yes, sir," the MP replied.

Decker took one last glance at room. Murdock was still and silent, and the orderlies turned off the lights as they exited. The door closed and the keys rattled. Shaking his head to get his mind back on his job, Decker left.

* * *

><p>It'd been unbearable. He could feel the skitters skittering everywhere and he thought he could hold out for another day or two but then he saw what was on his list of pills for the evening. Blast, that one always made him paranoid. Normally it wasn't too bad, but considering he already had a heightened sense of people-are-watching-me, it wouldn't be pretty.<p>

But that's the problem with people always watching you. You couldn't hide anything from them. Like pills.

Seeing the corporal eyeing him, Murdock made a grand show of stuffing the pill in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. His look dared the corporal to comment.

Blasted constant presences…

He couldn't even beat the high scores on his video games. He was too distracted to think. He was finally doing well on one before he realized he was just looking at the fuzzy paint shades on his wall. Darn, must mean he's hallucinating again. Mixed with his meds and the dying light, his nerves weren't too happy about that.

Murdock gripped the joystick. Where'd he gotten it? He didn't remember. What was he doing again? He didn't remember that, either. His skin prickled as another figure joined the one outside his door. Two of them, now? Twice as many eyeballs making his skin crawl. They started talking in low voices, but he knew they were discussing him. Talking about him behind his back, eh? His hearing was better than they apparently thought. They were going to watch him even more? More people watching his every move? Billy was up and growling, a deep shade of purple. Many things were purple, and oh look, the wobblies were wobbling again. Contact reported again. Catalogue his actions. Skitter-eyes were burning holes in his flesh so hot that it was painful.

He was up and shouting before he realized what was happening. Ha! He caught them red-handed, and now they were imitating startled deer, _as they should_. Time to get back at those keeping him in this cell. They were just waiting for him to crack, weren't they? Waiting for him to become a blubbering shell, cracked and leaking his secrets everywhere. Lock 'im up and watch 'im till he breaks down. _Not going to work, you scuzoos!_

He kept yelling and hitting the door until it opened and people poured in. They were insignificant. He needed to get to the green men outside- they were the skitter-eyes. He tried to get past the people in white but they held him still and tried to talk to him, tried to get him calm. He spotted the syringe. No, not yet! He hadn't reached the men in green!

The drugs entered his system and he felt his muscles failing him. He twitched, still trying to move after the evil skitter-eyes, but the purple wobblies were all over the place and he couldn't get through them. As his strength left him, he thought he felt straps being secured around his limbs.

_Oh, looks like it's going to be another one of _those_ nights…_

* * *

><p>It was close to midnight, and the one MP patrolled the courtyard nervously. He was the only one left in the area. Why his backups had all been relieved, he didn't know, but the decreased security worried him. He didn't like hanging around an insane asylum in the middle of the night. It sounded like something ripe for a horror movie.<p>

His fears were confirmed when something heavy hit him from behind.

* * *

><p>Murdock snapped awake, a little blearily, and not sure why. He knew the sedative had worn off by now, but he should still be asleep. What could have awakened him?<p>

It sounded like someone had whispered _"Damn_," …

He heard another noise and tried to figure out where it came from. Why wouldn't the room stop spinning? Was a nurse checking in on him? If so, then why was the noise coming from his left, when the door was on his right…

Suddenly on red alert, Murdock started flexing his right wrist. He's had plenty of practice with restraints. Now it was just a matter of getting his hand free in time to meet this intruder.

_Maybe it's just Face_, he thought. It would be good to see the team for a while.

A figure loomed overhead. He blinked, startled.

_That's not Face._

The figure seemed startled to, and Murdock realized that he just gave away that he was awake. Alright. Time to call in the backup.

He couldn't get a sound out before his pillow was stuffed over his face.

Instantly he started thrashing, trying to get it off or escape it, but the figure held it firm over his head. His heart beat faster as he realized he couldn't breathe, and he struggled more to get his hand out from the restraint. It was almost there- he could feel it slipping. So was he- bright spots danced behind his eyes and he started choking. He had to get the pillow off. It was smothering him.

With a rough sound that surely marked up his hand he came free. Reflexively he grabbed the pillow, pushing it away. The intruder seemed surprised again at the sudden resistance and Murdock managed to gasp in a lungful of air before the pillow returned and a hand began batting at his. Well, he had more wiggle room now. Even if he was still three-fourths restrained.

Murdock twisted his whole body to the left to throw off his attacker. He snatched his hand back and punched the pillow away from him. Mouth free, he started hollering at the top of his lungs.

"HELP! HELP! INTRUDER! HELP-mphk!"

The door flew open with a bang and a voice shouted "Freeze!"

The intruder bolted back out the window, and a gunshot followed him out. Murdock dimly batted at the pillow, trying to move it. Someone lifted it away and he blinked up at a familiar helmet. The lights flipped on and he recognized the corporal from outside his door. It slowly registered that the MP was talking to him.

"-ight? Can you hear me? Do you know what happened, sir?"

The corporal's voice sounded like he was underwater, and Murdock's reply sounded far away. He squinted through the bright light at the doctors and nurses and MP's that were quickly swarming his room.

"Um… yes? No? What…?"

"Everything's okay, Mr. Murdock," a nurse was saying. "You're going to be just fine."

His restraints were removed and he was somehow maneuvered into a wheelchair, which started moving away. He passed Decker, and could just stop and stare at the man.

"What…?" he asked.

Decker turned to him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Murdock could read the expression clearly, though.

_I don't have a clue any more than you do._

* * *

><p>*I'm never talking! You can't break me this way you rancid piece of broken glass! I'm not standing for any of this!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter very nearly didn't make it. I've been having some computer problems and just got my laptop back after a few days in the shop. While fixed, everything is gone, including Microsoft Office. Fortunately, the guy saved my personal files and this chapter was still (barely) accessible. I'm posting it now before anything else happens. All this being said, it may be awhile until I can get the next chapter up, considering I don't even have Word at the moment. **

**Anyways, back to the story. There's a line from 'Curtain Call' in here, so you can tag that episode. Otherwise, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"This doesn't make any sense," Decker muttered, pacing back and forth. "What kind of enemies could a committed man have?" No answers had turned up in the hours following the disturbance in Murdock's room. They had found one guard unconscious outside in the courtyard, but so far there was no more sign of the black-clad intruder. Other than being a little shaken up, Murdock checked out fine and asked to return to his room, saying that he didn't want the mysterious figure to get Billy next. Or his comic books.<p>

"Could it be the A-Team?" he wondered. It sounded ridiculous- if anything surely they would try to break their friend out, not kill him.

He recalled suddenly one of his conversations with the demented captain, after he almost had the wounded A-Team in his grasp. He'd been trying to get the man to confess that they would show up to try and break him out on occasion.

He had laughed. "_Lies,_" he'd said. "_All lies. You see, they are after me_."

Maybe, he had this figured all wrong?

Decker grew more excited as his mind followed this line of reasoning. Maybe, back on that fateful mission in 'Nam, Murdock had seen something incriminating.. The only reason that he hadn't been killed off before was because he was declared clinically insane. But now, with himself and the military crawling about, the A-Team couldn't risk him saying something.

Yes, he thought, a smile forming on his face. This explained everything.

Besides, he now had a good reason to double his guard again. Take that, Richter.

* * *

><p>"Calm down, Billy, quiet down, now! Yes, I'm home, I'm back and I'm okay," Murdock reassured as he walked into his room again. He'd spent the rest of the night in the infirmary under observation, and finally after begging and pleading they allowed him back into his room. He was not happy to see the same amount of MP's again- but at least they weren't searching his room anymore. He desperately needed some privacy.<p>

Still, though. This had him worried. Something serious was going on, and it likely wouldn't stop.

He tried to think about that voice he heard. '_Damn…_' Something must have gone wrong.

Murdock crept to his window. He examined around the inside, not sure what he was looking for. The break-in looked professionally done, so that couldn't have been the problem. He was about to turn when a glint of reflected sunlight caught his eye.

Pressing up against the screen, he peered down outside to the bushes beneath. Tucked in discreetly between the wall and a shrub was a syringe.

Quickly he turned to Billy. "Now what would you say if you were trying to bag somebody and dropped the means to do so?" He looked behind him, and quickly crossed to his door, casually keeping an eye on the MP's. The one before his door had his back to him.

Alright. He had Decker's men everywhere and an attempted kidnapping. Now was the time to blow this popsicle stand.

He's been able to bust out by himself before. The only difference was that this time there were MP's everywhere. As Hannibal would say, a challenge.

He checked back on the MP. He didn't seem familiar; must be new. A sergeant, huh? He tried to stop the evil giggle from escaping and only partially succeeded. This was gonna be good.

* * *

><p>"Sergeant!" The MP jumped, startled at the stern voice behind him. He whirled around and did a double take. Had someone switched rooms on him? That didn't look like the T-shirt wearing, crazy-haired, wacky-grinned patient.<p>

He found himself staring back at intense dark eyes and an immaculate uniform. His eyes grew to the size of golf balls as he took in everything from the hat, to the rank, to the medals and decorations on the pressed dress uniform.

"What is the meaning of this, Sergeant?" the captain asked quietly.

"S-sir?"

"Why am I in here? Why is this door locked? You had better answer me, Sergeant."

The MP stammered. "Sir, you don't remember anything about…?"

"About what, Sergeant?" he said sharply. "Is there something you would like to tell me?"

"Just… aren't you insane?"

He gulped as the captain froze, hardly moving, hardly breathing, but expression burning. When he spoke his voice was low and commanding. "Look into my eyes, Sergeant. Do I look insane to you?"

The MP hesitated, but carefully looked into those dark eyes. Shocked, he didn't see in wildness or blankness, but instead a deep intensity and concentrated drive. This man was serious. Deadly serious.

"N-no, sir," he answered.

The captain didn't drop his gaze. Very deliberately, he said "then let me out of here."

"Ah, but, but, sir, I-"

"What was that, Sergeant?" the captain interrupted heatedly.

"Nothing, sir! Just a moment, sir…" He fumbled with the keys, given so that in case of another break-in they could rush to the patient's aid. The door opened and the captain stepped out, walking with a full military bearing.

"Sergeant, I need the names of the men who put in there," he ordered calmly, hands clasped firmly behind his back. "So that this matter can get sorted out once and for all."

"That, I don't know about that, but, I guess you could talk to Colonel Decker."

"Decker, eh? So be it. I want you to stay here, Sergeant, in case any other pour souls get locked in that room. See to it that they don't."

The MP snapped a salute. "Yes, sir!"

Murdock returned the salute, and swiftly strolled away down the hall.

* * *

><p>Outside, the MP's watching the ground stood bored by their respective posts. They watched families and ordinary people meander in and out of the hospital. A fully dressed captain even marched out and walked down the street to the bus stop.<p>

"Sure see a lot of brass around here since Decker set up watch," one remarked.

"Yup. Sure do."

* * *

><p>"Now remember, the <em>key<em> to great teeth is that you brush gently, but firmly," Face said smoothly, demonstrating with a toothpick held out in front of him.

The blond sitting next to him watched the toothpick turn little circles utterly mesmerized. "I see," she breathed heavily.

"Yes," Face flashed a smile her way, the light glinting off his own pearly whites. "This is really all it takes to ensure healthy teeth, and so many people don't realize it. Brushing every day like this would save them so much trouble when they come and see me."

"I'd come and see you any day," the blond whispered breathlessly.

Face looked at her, and set down the toothpick, instead reaching for another speared olive. "I know, Celeste-"

"Celestia," she corrected, staring dreamily into his eyes.

"Celestia," he amended. "I know you would visit me whenever you could, and that's what makes you special. There aren't many people out there who would willingly visit the dentist."

"I believe you're a dentist," she whispered in that same breathy voice. She pressed up against him and slowly ate the olive off from the toothpick he was holding.

Face made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and quickly cleared it to cover up the sound. "Oh… yes," he agreed, and they slowly moved in to kiss.

_RIIIIIING! RIIIIIIING!_

Face fell back against the sofa, a look of annoyance and despair crossing his face. "Aww… who could that be?"

He got up and walked over to the phone. "Dr. Clarke speaking."

"_Faceman!_" came an exuberant voice. "_Can you come pick me up?_"

"Murdock, you know I can't do that, not with-" he glanced back at Celestia and lowered his voice. "Not with Decker snooping around."

"_Oh, but I'm not at the hospital, Facey_," came the puppy-dog reply. "_I skipped outta there almost a half hour ago._"

"You _broke out of-!_" Face caught himself and pressed his hand to his forehead. "Murdock, where are you?"

"_Standin' somewhere on 14__th__ street, I think. There's a cute little doggy being walked by some lady in front of me_."

"That's not exactly helpful," Face muttered. "Look, 14th street? I think B.A.'s apartment is just over on 15th, it's above a florist's shop called _Miranda's Flowers_. 2B, I believe's the number. I'll try to meet you there."

"_Thanks, Face!_" chirped Murdock. The line clicked off and Face set the phone down, turning back to where Celestia waited for him on the couch.

"Who was that, sweetie?" she asked faintly.

"Oh, just a friend of mine who got a little lost; he's not in LA too often," Face covered easily. "Yeah, he got a little turned around so I directed him over to another friend's apartment and I'll meet him there, so, I'm afraid this means I'll have to be on my way."

"Oh, but surely you could stay… for just another ten minutes?" Celestia beckoned to him.

Face glanced between the door and the sofa. "Oh, what the hell, it's just ten minutes," he decided, crossing back over to her.

* * *

><p>B.A. grabbed another milk carton from the fridge and poured himself another glass. Behind him, the L.A. Rams were playing against the Dallas Cowboys on the TV screen. It was a pretty exciting game so far. Aside from the blaring TV set, the apartment was filled with what B.A. absolutely loved: peace and quiet. There were no sounds of machine guns firing, explosions ringing, or crazy fools jibber-jabbering.<p>

There was a knock on his door. B.A. set down his glass of milk and walked over, opening it.

Underneath a captain's hat and pressed uniform, Murdock grinned a huge smile at him, holding a bouquet of lilacs.

"Hiya, Big Guy!"

B.A. shut the door and decided it was time to throw out that carton of milk.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, guys! Glad to see that you're enjoying it. There's a twist in the road for this chapter. This chapter's a little late coming due to ongoing computer problems, but I'm hoping they'll get resolved in the near future. I'm going to go ahead and cite Blood, Sweat and Cheers; Cowboy George; Body Slam; and oh, Wheel of Fortune, why not? Bing translator was used once again for the other languages, though I'd like to think my German classes did me some good. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Hannibal knew to expect the unexpected when it came to H.M. Murdock. The man had knack, no, a <em>habit<em> for being unusual. He redefined the norm, and then still broke regularity. Sometimes it was a scene astoundingly complex, but most of the times Hannibal had been anywhere near dumbstruck were because what Murdock did was so painfully _simple._

The man stopped an MP truck carrying the rest of them by milking a cow in the middle of the road. He stuck a _cow_ in front of the truck to rescue them. And it worked. Not to mention the time he walked through a lynch mob with about a dozen grenades dressed as a pregnant lady. That'd been a surreal marriage for Hannibal.

So of course, he shouldn't be surprised to hear that Murdock broke out of the VA under Decker's nose by strolling out through the front door in full dress uniform. Heck, he'd broken the rest of them out of jail like that before.

Still. It did leave one just sort of… gaping.

"Okay, Murdock," Hannibal recovered, looking at the captain. The four of them were in the van, B.A. driving to make sure nobody spotted them. "So you're out now. What do you plan to tell Decker later?"

"The truth," Murdock asserted innocently. "I got bored and decided to take a walk around LA."

So painfully simple.

"He might actually buy that, Hannibal," Face mentioned, still dabbing at his face with a napkin.

"You still got a little lipstick here, Lieutenant," Hannibal informed, gesturing a spot on his face.

"Thanks," Face ducked his head, mildly embarrassed.

"Well, it's good that you have this all figured out, Murdock," Hannibal started in the same voice he used just before they crashed over South Carolina. "But, what do you plan on doing while you're out and about? We don't exactly have a mission."

"Wrong, muchachos," Murdock replied. "We do."

"Oh?" Face asked. B.A. glanced back from the driver's seat.

"I spent half of last night in observation because somebody snuck in to try and sneak me out… unbeknownst to everyone including _moi_."

"Wait, are saying someone tried to kidnap you?" Face clarified, alarmed.

"Didn't look like it at first, trust me, but this morning I saw a little syringe had fallen between the wall and a bush. Funny, the only thing that kept 'im from succeeding were the MP's everywhere."

"Did you get a look at this guy, Murdock?" Hannibal asked.

"Ah, negatory, Colonel, I couldn't see him around the pillow over my face."

He earned several glances for that, but busied himself with unbuttoning his uniform and slipping on his wadded-up bomber's jacket. His hat came out of a pocket, and instantly he was two steps closer to looking like normal Murdock.

Or perhaps, _abnormal_ Murdock.

"Did you find anything else that we could use to identify this guy?" Hannibal prodded as B.A. rounded an intersection.

"Well, I heard his voice, though it was kind of just one harshly whispered word."

"Hannibal," B.A. said softly from the driver's seat, not moving his head. "This guy's been following us for the past two turns."

Hannibal broke away from Murdock and glanced in the side mirror. A steel-grey sedan rode low behind them. "You sure?"

B.A. nodded. "Positive. We're actually doubling back on the direction we've been going."

Nodding slowly, Hannibal shifted in his seat. "Stay in the crowds, B.A., and don't stop except to get gas."

"You got something in mind, Hannibal?" Face asked as the sergeant complied.

"Well, if we keep driving around all over the city and he doesn't get bored, then we'll know he clearly wants to talk with us."

"Logical," Murdock asserted. Face looked uneasy about the idea.

The car stayed with them for the next hour, growing bold enough to ride directly behind them, not bothering to conceal its tailing. "This guy's insistent, but at least courteous," Hannibal mused. "He's waiting for us to stop."

"Should we?" B.A. asked. He didn't like what the fuel gauge was reading.

"Why not? He's kept up with us all this time…" He leaned forward, scanning the buildings. "Pull over in that parking lot, B.A."

The warehouse looked abandoned so B.A. freelanced the parking lot, parking the van over no less than four spaces. The sedan pulled up beside, and then in front of them. Four men in suits climbed out; three looked identical, they could have all been clones, but the fourth one climbed out of the driver's seat and wore dark blue with light brown hair and a full mustache.

Hannibal kept an eye on them as his own party climbed out of the van. They certainly didn't look like thugs, but he didn't like the government vibe each man seemed to radiate. Especially the triplets- he couldn't see their eyes past the dark shades each wore.

The man in blue with the mustache stepped forward. "Colonel Smith. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"You were hard to ignore standing on our doorstep for the last hour," Hannibal replied, still highly suspicious. The man had a relaxed attitude, but not a cocky one. He radiated sincerity, and for that Hannibal didn't trust him.

"Forgive me for that," he inclined his head. "But I wished to speak to you, and I didn't want to intimidate you into thinking we were after your capture."

"You have commendable patience, then," Hannibal said dryly. "What do you want from us?"

"Actually, I only need one of you," the man said. "I tracked you down because I need to pick up Captain Murdock."

Upon hearing his name, Murdock's head perked up and he stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Hold the telegram," he murmured, moving in front of the man. He squinted, then held up a finger to block out the mustache.

"Blue Gordon?" he asked, surprised.

The man nodded, smiling faintly. "That's one of my names. But yes, H.M."

"What are you doing here?" The shocked tone never left his voice. The rest of the A-Team glanced at each other, unsure of what was going on.

"The dogs howled at the moon last night," Blue Gordon answered.

Murdock stiffened, his demeanor instantly changing. The others picked up on it, and Hannibal moved closer, unsure how such a random sentence could have such a profound effect on the man.

"That's an old one," Murdock remarked. "But it's been awhile, huh?"

"But you now know why I'm here," Gordon replied.

"Uh, would someone please tell the rest of us why you're here?" Face broke in. B.A. growled as well, "You better start talkin', fool."

Unsure whether B.A. addressed Murdock or this Blue Gordon, Hannibal decided to steer things back on track. "Murdock, do you know these people?"

Murdock glanced at him, his shoulders relaxing some. "Yeah, Colonel. They're with the Company."

Both of his eyebrows shot up but all Hannibal said was, "I see."

"Now wait a minute, Blue, was it, was it your guys who tried to break into my room last night?" Murdock gathered.

Gordon visibly winced. "That was… a minor snafu caused by a rookie. Col. Decker's guard caused complications; they would be suspicious of anyone checking you out, looking for the A-team, so our best cover was to make it look like a kidnapping. That operative has since been reassigned."

"I'll bet he has," Murdock muttered darkly, with a rumble in his throat Hannibal had not heard before.

B.A. finally had enough of being kept in the shadows. He shouldered his way between the two and started yelling. "Hey man! I wanna know what's goin' on here! Why is the CIA here? Murdock, why are you talkin' with the CIA, fool? What was all that rap 'bout some dogs howlin' at the moon? I don't believe your name is really Blue Gordon. Who are ya for real, sucka? Why-"

"B.A., tone it down," Hannibal commanded.

B.A. growled, but backed off as Gordon held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"I apologize for the abruptness of this entire meeting, but we are on a tight schedule. Captain Murdock, if you will accompany me to a secure location for debriefing."

"What, they don't memorize their information anymore?" Murdock sniggered.

"This area's secure," Hannibal spoke.

"And how would you know this?" Gordon asked pointedly.

Hannibal just lifted an amused eyebrow. "We wouldn't be talking to you if it wasn't."

Gordon shook his head. "Understandable, but I can't have your presence here."

"We're going, too," Hannibal asserted, as if the answer was obvious.

Gordon pursed his lips. "Unacceptable. You're not with the CIA."

"So it fits perfectly," Face jumped in with a grin. "If we get caught, nobody can pin you guys."

"Besides, you must want somebody on the outside doing the job if you're looking for Murdock," Hannibal reasoned.

"I didn't even know I was still technically with them; thought they didn't employ crazy people," Murdock commented.

Gordon sighed, still alert, and motioned one of the clones to retrieve something from the backseat. He pulled out a large briefcase and set it on the hood of the car, unlatching it and pulling out folders and a large map. Everyone crowded around the hood while the triplets kept watch.

"You were right, Murdock," Gordon began. "The CIA no longer officially recognizes you as an agent. _Officially_. However, we've encountered a problem which requires your unique skills and position."

He opened a folder and pulled out a file. A man's face was printed on the first page with detailed information following- what wasn't blacked out in ink, that is.

"Agent Jeff Henderson was one of our field operatives for 23 years. After that, he advanced to SSO(1) and worked with our NCS(2) branch before shifting to oversee our correlations with the NSA. About after a year in that position, he turned up AWOL."

"Turncoat agent," Hannibal murmured. "No wonder you're grabbing for outside help."

Gordon nodded. "With his clearance, he had access to all the files on our current agents and other employees, including many sleepers. You can see why we had to find somebody to chase him whom he was not familiar with."

"Yeah, but I'm not the only buried sleeper, why break me out of the psych ward for this?" Murdock inquired.

Gordon unfolded the map, revealing a detailed look of Europe. "We scrounged some last minute phone conversation that didn't get destroyed with his other tapes," he explained. "We believe he's planning to sell government secrets to an East German operative."

"Any KGB?" Murdock asked.

Gordon shook his head. "We don't think so. It's possible that the Soviets are behind this German agent, but they're not directly stepping in." He pointed to a city in Switzerland. "Our intel tells us that they plan to meet in Engelberg, Switzerland, sometime within the next two weeks." He raised his eyes up to the team. "As you know, there is no official Swiss language. The country is divided into regions of German, French, and Italian. This fact, combined with the presence of a German operative, is why we needed Murdock- an outside man who can speak all these languages fluently."

Everyone turned to Murdock. "_Ich Weiss nichts, nichts!_"* he protested in an exaggerated accent, holding up his hands.

"So what's the objective?" Hannibal asked, directing the focus back on the mission.

"Ideally? To bring Henderson back to the states, where we can resolve this internally. Failing that, kill him."

Everyone quieted. Even Murdock sobered up.

"What supplies will we have? How will we get there?" Hannibal continued.

Gordon regarded him for a moment. "You seem most anxious to do this assignment," he noted suspiciously.

He shrugged. "After what you've told us, there's no going back, is there? This is all top secret, and I don't want another reason for the government to come after us."

"Besides, maybe this will put in a good word for us for those people in Washington," Face added.

Gordon quirked a soft smile. "Of course. For equipment, bring your own. We can supply one man, but not a team. You'll fly out of New York two days from now and drop into Switzerland as tourists. From that point on that's your cover. We will not be in contact with you after you land; after you secure Henderson, you will contact Mr. Terry Long at the US Embassy- tell him to not tarry too long. He'll instruct you from there."

"Rather vague instructions, otherwise," Hannibal pointed out.

"You're the A-Team," Gordon replied dryly. "Would you _want_ me to tell you how to do your job?"

Hannibal grinned. "Touché."

B.A. narrowed his eyes. "Hold on. New York in two days? That means flyin'. Same with goin' to Switzerland. I ain't flyin', Hannibal. I ain't gettin' on another airplane."

"That's alright, Sergeant, you can just stay behind," Gordon said airily.

B.A. growled at him, but cast a nervous glance at Hannibal.

"It's volunteer only, B.A. If you don't want to go, you don't have to," Hannibal mentioned lightly.

"Aw, man," Murdock complained. "If it's volunteer, why can't I stay behind with Big Guy?"

"Shut up, fool! We're goin' to Switzerland, and I don't wanna hear another word otherwise!"

Hannibal lit a fresh cigar and grinned around it. "So it's settled. I love it."

* * *

><p><strong>(1) Specialized Skills Officer<strong>

**(2) National Clandestine Service**

***I know nothing, nothing! ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, I've been pretty busy figuring out how to balance my schoolwork for the semester. I've made this chapter longer to try and make up for the delay. So! Thank you for the reviews! I greatly appreciate them :) Bing Translator is cited once again for the foreign languages used in here. Also, the hotels I named are real today, so I'm just pretending they also existed back in the '80s. I won't delay you any longer: enjoy!**

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><p>Face frowned as they boarded the commercial flight. He was having one of those what-am-I-doing-here moments. What was he doing here, what were <em>they<em> doing here, going to Switzerland to work for the CIA? There was no guarantee they were getting paid for it. They weren't even blackmailed into the job, told to do-this-or-else-we'll-execute-you. There wasn't a promise of getting their names cleared. No, all they were told is that an ex-CIA agent was going to sell state secrets and they had to stop him some time in the next two weeks.

Why had Hannibal agreed to this? He practically jumped at the opportunity. He discounted it as a ploy to land in the good graces of the government; the entire incident was incredibly hush-hush. After all, none of this ever happened, officially.

Getting to New York had been fun. Since that part of their operation was under their own power they "rented" a plane and flew on their own with their gear. For this flight overseas, Mr. Blue Gordon had assured them that their gear would pass through security. Some kind of clearance, apparently.

Face sat down next to B.A. It was a miracle that the man had even boarded the airplane under his own power. He gripped the armrests hard enough to leave dents, though.

He pulled out a water bottle and handed it to the burly man. "You might want to drink this before we get started," he suggested.

B.A. glanced at the bottle. "Does that got any knock-out pills in there?"

"Yes," Face said plainly. "But which would you rather have? You can sit through an 8-hour flight feeling every minute crawl by, or you can take these, sleep peacefully, and never know what happened."

B.A. eyed the bottle and glanced across the aisle. Murdock leaned forward in his spot by the window and grinned happily around Hannibal. "Just wait till we take off, Big Guy!"

Growling, B.A. snatched the bottle and promptly drained it.

Face leaned back in his chair and contentedly straightened his tie. He caught Hannibal watching him amusedly. "What?"

"Going for the direct approach?" Hannibal nodded towards B.A.

"Have to use it sometimes," Face replied. Someone walked down the aisle, momentarily obstructing their conversation.

"Hannibal, I've got to ask you: what are we doing here? You've never given me a straight answer."

Hannibal glanced around. "Too crowded here."

"Aw, geez," Face cringed. "Really? You wouldn't tell me on the plane we took to New York, either, and _that_ was just the four of us!"

"Wait till we take off, Face," Hannibal grinned.

Face didn't know how that would make any difference, but he was cut off from his reply by a heavy weight landing on his left shoulder. Mildly disgruntled, he carefully maneuvered B.A. so that he was slumped against the window instead of his suit. He grabbed the empty water bottle before it slid onto the floor.

The pilot went through the usual announcements and the flight attendants demonstrated the safety procedures. Moments later, the plane was taxiing to the runway, and the engines throbbed to take off.

To Hannibal's right, Murdock was pressed against the window, giddily watching for the moment they would leave the ground. They sped up, and lifted. Hannibal gripped Murdock's arm to keep him from howling out loud; they didn't need a repeat of _that_ incident.

Still swiftly gaining altitude, everyone settled in. Hannibal turned to Face, leaving Murdock still excitedly distracted at the window. It occurred to the conman that perhaps Murdock was the reason why Hannibal never said anything earlier; he was always present and listening.

"So?" Face pressed. "Why are we doing this?"

Hannibal uncharacteristically sighed. Then, with a slight jerk of his head, indicated Murdock. "You think the Company was going to let him turn it down? Not with this much at stake. I see no reason why one of my men should have to do this alone."

Face nodded, understanding dawning. "I see. So, the next time a girl wants me to meet her parents, you won't let me take on that assignment by myself, would you?"

Hannibal grinned. "Face, would you really want all three of us backing you up for that occasion?"

Face thought about it and then winced. "You're right. Never mind."

* * *

><p>Even though they took off at 4 P.M. and only had an eight-hour flight, it was 6 A.M. when they landed in Zürich. Of course, back in New York it was midnight. And in L.A. it was 9 P.M. yesterday. Jet lag was going to be murder.<p>

Murdock bounced off the airplane like a little kid. "Welcome to Switzerland!" he crowed. Face grimaced at the noise; he was too tired for such exuberance.

"Eyes open, fellas, we've still got a train ride before we reach Engelberg," Hannibal said. He prodded B.A., who was still groaning from the sedative's effects.

Face was hoping to catch a few Zzz's on the train, but Murdock insisted on keeping up a commentary on the countryside. It didn't help that he was actually doing it in English- if it'd been an unfamiliar language Face could've tuned it out. As it was, he was forced to listen.

They finally pulled into the city and checked into the Hotel Edelweiss. In the suite, their bags awaited them. Hannibal opened them up to reveal their gear.

"Looks like Gordon kept his word," he mused.

"Blue's good like that," Murdock dropped casually. "He's an honest man who specializes in dishonesty."

"Like Face?" Hannibal grinned.

"Thanks," Face said sarcastically.

"Alright, guys, I know the clock is ticking, but we're in no shape to begin investigating. Let's get some couple hours of sleep, and then start investigating his aliases."

"I've got the master room," Face called, shouldering his bag and ambling through the door. It was for the best; considering how long Face spent getting ready in the morning they were more than happy to let him have his own bathroom so he wouldn't take up theirs.

B.A. made it two feet and crashed onto the sofa. The drugs still in his system, he was out cold instantly.

Hannibal and Murdock left him and went to the double-bedded room. Murdock bunked near the window while Hannibal took the bed closest to the door. He mulled over the list of names they'd been supplied with as known aliases Henderson used, and thought about the long, tedious trek to find him in this city.

Before he knew it, he drifted off.

* * *

><p>Hannibal snapped awake, instantly knowing that something was off. First, he checked his watch. Calibrated to their new time zone, it read 1:35 P.M. He hadn't meant to sleep in so late. Why had no one awakened him?<p>

Come to think of it, they were probably still asleep, too.

A quick turn to his left revealed this not to be so. Murdock's bed was cleanly made and quite empty. And, upon closer tactile inspection, cold.

He'd been up for some time.

Hannibal walked into the kitchen area and found the pilot sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee. He must have been very quiet, for B.A. still snored on the couch further down. Papers were scattered all over the table, and he seemed to calmly be studying them. Hannibal watched for a moment as he lifted the cup to his lips and sipped, turning over a page in file.

"Ready to get started?" he commented.

Murdock noticed him, and Hannibal frowned at the slightly bloodshot look of his eyes. "Already finished," he replied. He reached across the table and dropped a folder on the place where Hannibal sat down.

"He's checked in at the Ristorante Al Monestero as an Italian businessman surveying potential locations for a restaurant. He's using an Italian passport and operating under the name of Marco Veneziale. He booked two rooms on the 4th floor, both on opposite sides of the hallway. Couldn't get any closer after that; if he's got two rooms then you can bet he's got pretty strong surveillance."

Hannibal blinked, trying to process the tide of information pouring forth. "Murdock," he began. "Have you been up this whole time?"

Murdock shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"And so you decided to go ahead and start tracking this guy on your ow- how did you find all this out so quickly?"

Murdock winked at him over his coffee mug. "We've's gots tricks at the Company," he said in a sneaky-sounding accent. Swallowing, he reverted back to normal. "If there's one thing the Agency knows how to do it's tracking somebody down."

"They couldn't have told us this sooner?" Hannibal pointed out.

"Now, Colonel, that would take all the fun out of it. Besides, they couldn't use any of their agents, remember? A lot of their intel supplies were suddenly cut because Henderson would recognize them."

"Did you see him?" Hannibal asked. "Did he see you?"

Murdock frowned. "Negative. He was out when I dropped by."

"But the front desk may alert him as to somebody snooping around."

Murdock grinned. "Nope. I didn't ask the front desk. Pulled one of Face's scams to sneak behind and check the register. That's how I know what rooms he bought. The staff there are none the wiser."

"Yet how did you track him to that name and that hotel?" Hannibal pressed, still not quite believing his ears.

Murdock smiled and spoke in a strong British accent. "Elementary, my dear Watson."

Hannibal grinned. "Okay. Trade secret. But it's great news for us." He rose. "I better wake the others." He glanced back at Murdock. "When are you going to sleep?"

"Probably tonight," Murdock answered.

"By then you'll have been up for nearly two days," he pointed out.

"Yep," Murdock agreed. "But no biggie."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," he answered. "It's conditioned, anyway. I've had to stay up this long on assignment before."

Hannibal lingered, debating whether to pursue that, but let the loaded gun lie. "As long you're functioning for now. I'll rouse Face; you get B.A."

"Roger."

* * *

><p>Granted, it took a moment for the others to swallow the sudden appearance of the information they were looking for, but they quickly shook it off. For Face and B.A., it simply meant that they were spared a long and tedious search.<p>

"Okay, so we've got a pretty solid five hours before sundown. That should be enough time to plant what we need," Hannibal instructed. "We need to monitor his two rooms, so that we're alerted when he's coming and going. B.A., we're going to need a camera."

"Got it, Hannibal."

"Henderson's good, Colonel," Murdock broke in tiredly. "You can bet that for whatever move we make he's already got a half-dozen countermoves planned out. The camera absolutely cannot be obvious."

Hannibal took the fresh cigar out of his mouth. "Or it can," he said, with the grin signaling he was on the jazz.

"Wait, what?" Face frowned.

"Think about it," Hannibal said. "When you're a spy, especially a turncoat one, you're going to be paranoid. A camera or microphone could be hiding in the hotel room, the lobby plant, the doors, the windows, any possible exit, the hallway, the elevator, on your own clothes, on the cleaning lady, etc. You're going to check every location to make sure it's clear."

"Right," Murdock nodded.

"So you're going to miss the obvious right in front of you," Hannibal grinned, putting the cigar back between his teeth. "B.A., I want a _really_ big camera."

"Are you going to let the rest of us know what you have in mind?" Face asked.

"Oh, it's brilliant," Hannibal said, swinging an arm around his shoulders and gesturing the upward space in front of them with his cigar. "It's going to be the next big hit. It's called, _Amoureuse de mes Ennemis_."*

* * *

><p>One had to feel sympathy for the clerk at the front desk of the Ristorante Al Monestero. The poor man didn't know what to do with loud people barging through the door and grandly hauling equipment towards the elevator, talking animatedly. Stressed, he tried to stop them, but they kept returning with crates of technical equipment including lights, cords, tripods, kits, and two large TV cameras.<p>

He fluttered from one man with slicked-back brown hair, trying to get him to stop. The man either didn't hear him, or didn't understand him; he kept muttering in French under his breath.

Distressed, the clerk flew to the next person, going to tap him on the shoulder, but thought better of it when the big man turned around and glared at him.

"Oh, _no, no,_ _che cosa sei tu- per favore!_"** The man whirled when someone tapped him on his shoulder. The person smiled, flashing pearly white teeth that went strikingly well with his dark blue suit.

"Hi," the man greeted. "Do you speak English?"

"_Sì,_ I do," he said frantically.

The man swiftly pulled out a card and handed it to the clerk. "I'm Arthur Dancroft, Hollywood agent and amateur director, and let me tell you, your location is _fantastic_," as he spoke he slipped an arm around the clerk and started walking with him. "It's just what we need for this little picture we're making for Monsieur Corteau back in Paris. You see, we've been looking everywhere for some kind of hotel or lodge that will fit the scenes we need for the dramatic confrontation between father and son, and this," he stopped and breathed a sigh of awe. "_This_ is it."

"Well, I am glad that you like our building," the man stammered. "But _what are all the-_"

"Rozerro, relax," the man said, probably spotting his name tag. "We're going to need equipment to film the scenes, you know. Though I tell ya," his tone changed to one of stressed chagrin. "If we have _any_ more problems with this picture, I'm gonna lose it."

"I'm sorry," the clerk blurted.

"Hm? Oh, not you, it's not you," 'Dancroft' assured. "No, it's our producer, Monsieur Corteau. I mean, the man is sitting on a pile of money and he wants to make a movie. Now, there's nothing wrong with that, but then he keeps cutting our budget!" He whirled and gestured the three men unloading the crates. "See that? That's all I have to make the hotel scene. Two actors and a tech guy! And one of the actors- the Frenchie with the brown hair over there, see him? That's Monsieur Corteau's son. And don't get me started on the problems caused by _that_ family dynamic. Boy, it'll be a miracle if this picture turns out at all."

"But what has this got to do with the hotel?" the clerk exclaimed.

The Hollywood agent paused. "I told you. The location. Now, we'll be sure we won't be disruptive to your guests, so we'll take the floor with the least amount of people on it- that'd be the fourth floor. Nobody likes staying on the fourth floor."

"What is wrong with the fourth floor?" he asked, confused.

"Are you kidding? Oh, Rozerro, Rozerro," the man mourned. "You're fairly new in hotels, aren't you? Well, never mind that. We'll just set up our equipment and try to get a few scenes done before the day ends, it'll be no trouble at all." He moved off towards the elevator. Rozerro stood there for a moment, blinking, before crying out and running after them just as the doors closed. He turned back around, facing the lobby, bewildered.

* * *

><p>"401 and 409, right Murdock?" Hannibal murmured discreetly in the elevator.<p>

"_Oui_," Murdock replied.

The doors slid open and Face clapped his hands. "Okay, let's get 'er set up, I want to roll through Act 5, Scene 1 before sundown; Big Guy I want the lights set up over there and the camera with them-"

"Gotcha."

"-Mr. Danube, I want you positioned here, by the camera. Aw, it's a shame the producer wouldn't spring for a real stage microphone."

Hannibal straightened his suit and did as instructed. Murdock paced the hall with an exaggerated frown, viewing the work over and nodding his head critically.

Face grabbed the hotel phone on the wall and dialed a number. He started the "call" smiling, but quickly slipped into irritation.

"Whaddaya mean, 'no'? We got the location! We're all set-up and ready to go! What's the issue?"

At that time the door to 401 opened and a man stepped out. It looked just like Henderson- with a slight makeup job. Hannibal, the expert on such disguises, saw through it instantly.

"_Cosa sta succedendo qui?_"*** he barked, walking out into the middle of everything. He angrily tapped Face's shoulder, but Face brushed him off exasperatedly, still talking on the phone.

"_Cosa sta succedendo qui?_" he demanded again.

Murdock strode forward, looking down his nose at the man. "_Nous faisons un film magnifique qui va révolutionner l'industrie tout entière au nom de la France !_"**** he spouted in thick French.

Henderson looked at him like he was crazy. Hannibal tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around. "Hi. Do you speak English?"

"Some," came an accented answer. _Bull_, Hannibal thought to himself. "What is happening?"

"Well, it's simple," Hannibal explained, still smiling. "We're making a movie."

He briefly wondered if they could jump Henderson now, but he didn't want to blow their cover and he could see .45 automatic stashed in his jacket.

"A movie? What?"

"Hold up!" Face called. He pressed his ear closer to the phone. "Well how am I supposed to know? It's not like I can mail you a picture of the place instantaneously! Are you serious? Look, do you want it to happen or not?" Pause. "Aw, geez, you gotta be kidding me. Alright, I'll tell them. They could use a night off." He hung up.

"Bad news, guys, Monsieur Corteau's not sure if he wants us to film here. He's on the fence about it, so I'll keep talking to him overnight. In the meantime, we can't film anything without his say-so."

B.A. and Hannibal groaned while Murdock sniffed. Face checked his watch. "Look, it's almost dinner time, why don't we leave our stuff here, grab something to eat, settle down, and come back to film in the morning, huh? I'm sure I'll have swayed him by that time."

Grumbling, B.A. started hauling the rest of the equipment over by the lights. "Hey, Big Guy, make sure you don't leave anything on this time, heh?" Hannibal called.

"Man, that was one time!" B.A. retorted.

Henderson stood bewildered as they kept working, stockpiling everything over at the end of the hall. "What? What?"

"Okay, guys, let's go. Dinner's on me- I'm craving Italian," Face said. The others agreed and milled back into the elevator. Henderson stared after them, still posing as a confused businessman. Shaking his head after the doors closed, and glaring at the haphazard equipment, he walked back into his room and shut the door.

Meanwhile, in the left-behind movie camera, the film was rolling.

* * *

><p><strong>*Love with my Enemies; French<strong>

****Oh, no, no, what are you- please!; Italian**

*****What is going on here?; Italian**

******We are making a glorious film that will revolutionize the entire industry in the name of France!; French**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey guys! Again, I apologize for the wait. Between school, work, homework, a car accident and my own laziness this chapter got written in increments instead of one straight flush. But here it is! And thank you for all the reviews! For the translations here I (once again) have used Bing Translator, but also what I remember from my own German classes (and Hogan's Heroes, I'll admit), so I'm crossing my fingers that the grammar's right (if not, I apologize). Also, considering I have a lot, I've broken up the foreign conversations into two translated parts at the bottom- you'll see what I'm talking about. Some are not word-for-word translations, but instead a general idea of what's being said.**

**Anyways, enjoy reading!**

* * *

><p>B.A. watched the TV, bored with the show, but alert for any change. On the screen was a visual of the hallway where Henderson was staying, broadcast live from their camera. As the night deepened, there'd been no change. The others were asleep, but B.A. found himself slightly wired after the long plane snooze and the morning nap. He volunteered to watch the hall for the night.<p>

Maybe he slipped into a light trance, because the night went by faster than he expected. Before he knew it, Hannibal was emerging from the other room, white trench coat and black gloves on.

"Anything, B.A.?" he asked.

"Not yet," he replied, stretching. "Man was down for the night."

Hannibal nodded, still serious. "Alright. That's good. If he makes any midnight trips in the future, then we'll know that the exchange is going down."

"Right. But what if it happens during the day?"

Hannibal stuck a cigar in his mouth and grinned. "Then we'll figure something out."

He was lighting it when Face strode out of his room, prim and proper as always. "Any plans for today, Colonel?"

"O'e 'o'ent," he said around his cigar. Finally getting to light, he drew a long puff before speaking. "Yes, Face. I have plenty of plans for today. We're undercover as tourists, remember? So we're going to tour some sites."

"Really?" Face and B.A. said together, both incredulous.

"Hannibal, in case you don't remember, but we're trying to nab a CIA agent," Face explained.

"Oh I know. And that's why we're going to tour the city," he agreed, still grinning. He crossed over to Face.

"Tour the city," the conman echoed, still smiling in disbelief.

"Mm-hm," Hannibal settled an arm on Face's shoulder and looked out in front of them. "We're going to see all the attractive sites it has to offer, such as strategic cut-off points, places for snipers, crowded areas, shadowed alleys… maybe even buy a few souvenirs, like knock-out drugs and nylon rope." He grinned, chewing his cigar at the look on Face's face.

"_Now_ we're talkin'," B.A. grinned.

* * *

><p>If there was such a thing as the 7 Mental Wonders of the World, Hannibal's mind would be among them.<p>

Come to think of it, Murdock's would be right up there, too, if simply for its unexplainable intricacy. But Hannibal's was a marvel unto itself as well, due to the way he had the uncanny ability to decipher situations and people in an almost precognitive manner.

Very rarely was Hannibal ever wrong about somebody. Even rarer was when he didn't have a plan; formed by piecing together bits of a landscape and various items in a unique, creative, and unexpected way. One walk through downtown and he knew exactly how to ensnare Henderson.

It was just a matter of timing it right.

Henderson would make his move at night. He was sure of it. And then Hannibal casually tipped the scales in favor of _this_ night by having Face put in a reservation at the Ristorante Al Monestero under the name of George W. Smith. One couldn't get much more American than that. It would spook Henderson into action.

Face would be back soon from setting up his location. B.A. was down tinkering with a rental car. Murdock was pacing wildly about the room muttering and laughing in German, getting ready. Hannibal lit another cigar as he watched the night darken. On the TV screen, the camera continued to display the fourth floor hallway.

"_Mein Oberst! Funktioniert ein solcher Plan?_" Murdock crowed in a squeaky voice, stopping short in front of Hannibal with one eye open.

Hannibal removed his cigar. "It's a brilliant plan, Murdock. It'll work, and with any luck, we won't hit too many snags."

Murdock nodded once exaggeratedly. "_Klingt gut. Truppen! Bei Achtung!"_

Hannibal chuckled as Murdock paraded around the room, commanding an imaginary army. Not for the first time, he wondered how he became a CIA agent in the first place. Oh, when he thought about it he could see why. Murdock made an excellent spy. His impersonations, lingual abilities, and myriad of skills made him an invaluable asset in the area of espionage. After all, how many multi-lingual, innovative, character-actor, singing, resourceful, photographic-memory, invisible dog toting, happy-go-lucky, slightly insane veteran pilots were there?

"_Macht schnell, M__änner,_before the fruit bats steal our helmets!"

Still. How?

There was a rustle at the door and they turned to see Face enter. "Ah, B.A.'s finishing up with that car, Hannibal; he'll be up in a minute."

"Good. How'd everything go at your end?" he stretched.

"Oh, fine, just fine. I'm all set up at the window and got a _perfect_ view of the square," he flashed his smile.

"Great. And you've got the Novacaine?"

Face held up the bottle. "From our personal B.A. stash," he grinned.

B.A. entered at that moment through the door. "Car's ready, Hannibal. I've upgraded the tires and made some improvements to the engine to make it faster."

Hannibal grinned. "Great; I love a getaway vehicle." Everyone gravitated to a loose circle as he continued. "Everyone clear on their parts?"

"_Jawohl_," Murdock replied seriously.

"Face, Murdock, I want you two in position in an hour from now. I'll keep watch on the set and radio you when Henderson leaves the hotel. B.A., have that car ready on the corner. In case things go south I want you there and ready to intervene if necessary. I'll catch up with you there."

"Right."

"Gotcha, Colonel."

Hannibal rolled his sleeve down and checked his watch. "Alright, last call for snacks."

"Dibs on the peanut-butter crackers!" Murdock shouted, leaping over the couch into the kitchen. B.A. shook his head and followed at a more sedate pace, aiming for the fridge. While the two busied themselves, Face drifted over closer to Hannibal.

"Hannibal, a question if you don't mind me asking."

Hannibal motioned for him to continue.

Face lowered his voice. "How are you so sure that Henderson will make a move tonight?"

"Combination of reason," he answered. "One, we've been giving the paranoid man a few American scares. Two, while you can do a briefcase switch in broad daylight, you can't deliver a long tirade of memorized information- too many people could overhear that conversation out on the street. And three," he smiled. "I can tell."

Face nodded, his concerns only somewhat quelled. He didn't question Hannibal's intuition, however. Not in this case. It was the same knack each of them had, in a certain degree. Not that Face liked to brag, but he considered himself to be a fairly good judge of the female character. He knew their ins and their outs and was very adept at reading and, ah, _accompanying_ them. B.A. was great with children. The man had an innate ability to calm, rally, and otherwise handle the little urchins. Murdock was a natural with animals. Be it dog, horse, crocodile, or invisible, Murdock was the one who would befriend the creature and get anything out of them.

Hannibal's specialty was men.

Motives, mindsets, personalities- he always managed to figure out an entire person from only a brief face-to-face meeting. It was why he was the one who screened all of their clients. It was how he managed to get under the next bad guy's skin and twist him to his will. He knew how the other mind worked.

So if Hannibal said Henderson was leaving the hotel that night, then by gum he was.

And they would be ready.

* * *

><p>Murdock stuffed his hands deeper in his pocket, bouncing on his toes to stave off the cold. Switzerland was lovely- but also chilly. Especially at night.<p>

He loitered in the square in front of the Ristorante Al Monestero. The collar to his coat was turned up, and his hat was pulled down low over his face. One couldn't be too careful about identification- especially when up against another CIA agent.

There was a crackling in his left ear. _"Okay, our hen's left the chicken coop. He should be outside in three minutes. Murdock? You're on."_

He belayed no outward sign of acknowledgement to Hannibal's words. Instead, he drifted slowly to the second-closest lamppost to the hotel and pulled out a lighter.

Three minutes later, Henderson walked out. He stopped in front of the doors on the sidewalk, looking left and right as if trying to decide which direction to go. Finally, he chose right.

Murdock grinned.

Henderson just swept by him when he called out.

"_Eine cigarette, bitte?"_

Henderson stopped and turned towards him. Murdock raised his head.

"_Nun?"_

Digging in his pocket, the agent pulled out a pack and tossed one to Murdock. "_Danke,"_ Murdock said, thanking him.

"_Es war nichts_," Henderson waved off.

_So. Looks like the Italian merchant has been dropped._

"_Woher kommst Sie?"_ Murdock continued.

"Berlin," he replied, standing beside him by the lamppost.

"Ah." Murdock raised his head and idly looked at the building across the street. Most of its windows were dark. Didn't mean that the rooms were unoccupied.

He finally turned and fully faced Henderson. "Herr Henderson, _Ich glaube wir haben Geschäft diskutieren._"

Maybe he was expecting shock on Henderson's face. Maybe he was expecting a glance to see who was around before diving into detailed, classified information.

He was not expecting a gun to be drawn with the speed of a viper.

Murdock dove to the left as the shot cracked past, missing him by centimeters. Henderson took off running, and he could hear Face yelling into the radio for B.A. through the earpiece. There was another whizzing sound and a screech of car tires as B.A. tore the rental around the corner.

Please don't miss, Face, tell me you didn't miss.

Head pressed against the pavement, Murdock's eyes widened as his racing mind suddenly put it together.

Switzerland was a trap.

...

Face, in the building across the street, was relying on his sniper skills. Granted, this was his first non-lead bullet to fire, and while waiting he felt almost silly that he was sitting behind essentially a high-powered dart gun.

He was grateful for it when Murdock suddenly threw himself sideways and Henderson took off running. Face shouted for B.A. through the radio as he took aim. Firing, the dart sailed true and caught the agent on the arm. He saw him wrench it off almost immediately, but with any luck the drug had already been injected into his system.

Sure enough, Henderson was wobbling by the time B.A. pulled up in front of him and he and Hannibal got out. They practically caught Henderson as he collapsed. When Face saw Murdock get to his feet and jog over to the car, he finally felt comfortable in leaving his post.

He should feel glad, he reflected. They had Henderson.

_But how did he know who they were?_

When the others swung by in the rental to pick him up, he caught Murdock's eye, and instantly knew that the man knew the answer.

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Translations:<strong>_

**Murdock in the hotel room:**

**My Colonel, will such a plan work?**

**Sounds good. Troops! At attention!**

**Quickly, men!**

**Yes sir.**

**Murdock and Henderson:**

**A cigarette, please?**

**Well?**

**Thank you.**

**It was nothing.**

**Where are you from?**

**Mr. Henderson, I believe we have business to discuss.**


End file.
